


Deal

by notsafeforwank (comeonlight)



Category: Final Fantasy Type-0
Genre: Choking, Cigarette Smoke Intensifies, F/F, Irrelevant Vague Lore-Related Headcanon BS, Janus + Queen, Mommy Kink, Mother Complex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pseudo-Incest, Smut, The Author Regrets Everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-19 07:17:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22907221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comeonlight/pseuds/notsafeforwank
Summary: "Her loyalty is of course unwavering; Queen knows that Arecia knows this— why, Arecia knows plenty more about Queen than she knows about herself and probably always will. That is all well and good, but Queen is human, and like all humans, she possesses a degree of selfishness. Tonight, she is unafraid to act on that selfishness."
Relationships: Arecia Al-Rashia/Queen (Final Fantasy Type-0)
Kudos: 8





	Deal

**Author's Note:**

> Mistakes were made. In loving memory of sovereign (https://archiveofourown.org/works/3644301 | Now a 404)

_ Kill, and relish it. _

It’s a kind of poison, or a delusion. A lingering nightmare, or intrusive thought, or the stress manifesting. Yes, the stress. Nothing a quiet evening of tea and meditation can’t cure. It’s only natural for war to gnaw at the nerves of everyone it impacts, but it falls to some more than others to remain composed and level-headed. Queen sits in her candlelit room on the edge of her chair, staring down at the teacup situated on her coffee table. A pouch of blended tea rests inside, alongside a crystal shard. Queen simply stares, contemplative. It is rather strange, she considers as she wipes a thin coat of sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, that she feels any hesitation at all. Mother had gifted her this tea, specially crafted it for her in fact. Furthermore, it’s rather addictive— not in the way that an alcoholic craves liquor, but in the way that a child wants for their favorite pastry. It’s comforting, like a treat…except, Queen can indulge herself in her “treat” whenever she likes, without worrying about supply. It’s a wonderful, wonderful gift.  _ Except— _

No, no, it’s just in her head.

Queen touches the crystal shard with her fingertip, and it reacts with a soft glow. The shard dissipates, conjuring in its stead just enough boiling-hot water for a single serving of tea. The tea steeps, quickly darkening the steaming liquid to a rich black with twinkling particles, as if the cosmos themselves had been poured into this cup. Queen quietly exhales through her mouth and carefully picks up the cup with both hands. She’s been shaking recently; a jitter in her hands before bed, a facial twitch when she wakes up in the middle of the night, shivers down her spine after a mission. Small things that didn’t happen at the war’s onset. Small things that, with patience, will surely disappear. Just like the voice echoing in the back of her mind, crawling forth, whispering violent yet temptful words into the forefront of her consciousness in still moments. Thankfully, Mother’s tea keeps it at bay, or at least changes the words it speaks. Still, those words are—

_ No,  _ it just… She’s just tired. Stressed. Sick, sick in her mind, sick in her soul, and these... _ urges _ ...attempting to claw their way out are simply a side effect of her recovery.

Queen takes a long sip from her cup. The heat trickles down, warming her from the inside, and in an instant, all her worries fade. An instant later, she begins to wonder: Why was she so obsessed with composure in the first place? The war wages on whether she stifles her emotions or not? Why bother trying to control an unruly heart or suppress its desires? How silly. Life is fleeting, fragile, and so easily forgotten. Why not indulge before she returns to nothing?

Queen drinks more from her cup, tilting her head back and allowing tea to roll down her chin. It tastes the way Mother’s cigarette smells, toxic and bitter and familiar and  _ delicious.  _ She rolls the taste around on her tongue, savoring the burn in her mouth, further pondering without restraint—  _ Could this be the taste of Mother’s tongue? _

It’s a thought that would pass often, but quickly; before tonight, Queen would shake her head until it ached, forcing herself to think of something else. Something boring. Something a prim and proper, good girl should be thinking about. Tonight, however, she allows the thought to linger like familiar company rather than an unwanted guest. Would Arecia’s lips taste like this? If Queen were to kiss them now, would they be as soft as she imagines? Would they part for her, grace her own with a tender suckle? Would those pearly teeth claim her with a ravenous bite? Might Mother— might  _ Arecia, _ in all her ethical ambiguity, frown upon these abhorrent thoughts taking up residence in her good girl’s mind? Or might she foster them, perhaps even indulge them?

Queen sets down an empty cup and giggles inwardly. When was the last time she allowed herself to relax, truly  _ relax  _ and let her mind run free? Never, that she can remember. Oh, how  _ refreshing  _ to drop the mantle of “good girl,” to realize that she is not a good girl at all and to revel in it. She removes her glasses and slams them onto the table, shaking the teacup and nearly shattering the lenses. It always feels so  _ liberating  _ to take the damned things off, but tonight taking them off feels like breaking shackles, like a part of herself locked in a dungeon all her life is finally free and she is at long last  _ whole.  _ To hell with the glasses; in fact, to hell with her nightgown, stained with the mystical tea still dripping from her chin. Queen rises, triumphant, free of her bonds and makes to tear the cloth from her body—

When the smell of smoke stops her in her tracks. It’s heavy in her nose, nearly burning as her eyes shimmer with amusement. The scent of Arecia’s cigarette and the taste of tea still hot on her tongue really are  _ indistinguishable. _ And truthfully, completely sincerely honestly  _ genuinely,  _ Queen cannot decide which she finds more hilarious: this fact, or Arecia’s willingness to manifest right here, right now, assuredly aware of Queen’s newfound emancipation. The good girl would have feigned surprise, would have asked how in Orience Arecia managed to get past the door unnoticed, would have tried to trick herself into believing Arecia is human, but the good girl is not Queen. Queen turns around, grip still tight on her gown, and offers an entertained smile. “Arecia. What brings you here at this time of night?”

“I see you’ve awakened to your power,” Arecia says, all business and unfazed by the form of address. “There is still much I must instruct you on, however.”

“Lovely,” Queen says, nearly dismissive as she releases her grip on her nightgown and begins to saunter toward her bed. Her loyalty is of course unwavering; Queen knows that Arecia knows this— why, Arecia knows plenty more about Queen than she knows about herself and probably always will. That is all well and good, but Queen is human, and like all humans, she possesses a degree of selfishness. Tonight, she is unafraid to act on that selfishness. Tonight, she would conquer the realm if she wished to.

Arecia follows, taking a seat beside Queen on the edge of the bed and continuing on: “Of course, I’ll need you to maintain appearances—”

“I’m not going back.” Queen says decisively, followed by a tilt of her head. Never has she spoken in such a way to Arecia, and never has she been so surprised by a  _ lack _ of regret. Arecia seems surprised as well, lifting her brow just slightly before taking a long drag from her cigarette. Queen touches the inside of her cheek with her tongue, mulling over what to say during the brief silence. Arecia exhales, sparing Queen a glance through the smoke. Queen bites her lip.

“...Let’s make a deal.” Queen leans closer, mildly hesitant but still very much bold in her actions. “I’ll play the good girl, if you’ll indulge me.” And with that, she presses her lips to Arecia’s, heat lightly singeing her skin and a healing warmth patching it right back up. When Queen opens her eyes, she sees no amusement in Arecia’s. No satisfaction, no desire, but also no disgust, no judgement, and no opposition.

“Whatever it is that you desire,” Arecia croons in that caretaker voice of hers, “You need only ask.” Her cigarette vanishes with a flash of light, and she moves to comb her fingers through Queen’s hair. Queen leans into the touch, momentarily soothed until Arecia whispers, “It’s a deal,” just vaguely gratified by  _ something _ and that’s more than enough to make Queen plunge headfirst into intemperance.

Queen presses her lips to Arecia’s again, harder, and grips her shoulders. She’s inexperienced but undeterred, sloppily seeking the taste of cigarettes and tea with her tongue and crawling onto Arecia’s body as best she can in their position. It’s only moments before she loses her balance — she can swear she hears Arecia snicker then — and then she’s on her side, just a tilt of the head away from being smothered by a rather appealing pair of breasts. Damn demigod.  _ Damn,  _ demigod.

“It wasn’t hard to spot you staring,” Arecia states, and Queen promptly responds by unfastening the button of her shirt. Arecia’s breasts spill out, right into Queen’s hands, and Queen takes the briefest pause to glance up into Arecia’s eyes:

“And what about it?”   
  
Emboldened by her own audacity, or maybe just adrenaline, Queen buries her face in Arecia’s cleavage and massages the skin with both hands, earning the reward of Arecia’s seemingly affectionate hum. Queen lifts her head to breathe, only for Arecia’s lips to steal the air from her lungs with a kiss. She’s addicted, the way an alcoholic craves liquor, but worse,  _ so much worse.  _ Her lips pepper Arecia’s cheeks, her neck, her chest, biting at the unbreakable skin, voracious, hands trembling once more but now from sheer  _ excitement,  _ uncontainable until she is, in fact, contained. Or hindered, at the very least.

Arecia pushes Queen onto her back, holding her firmly in place with a hand on her neck and a commanding gaze. “Don’t overexert yourself,” she instructs calmly. “You  _ are  _ human, after all.” The restricted flow of air to Queen’s lungs is a slightly more potent reminder of that fact, as well as an  _ exceedingly  _ pleasant sensation. Queen squirms in place, contradicting the giant grin on her burning red face. Her shaky, near autonomous hands lift her nightgown to just below Arecia’s hand, exposing her body for Arecia to do with as she will. An instant later, she suddenly jolts up, hacking, and Arecia’s grip eases. Queen immediately squeezes her own hand around Arecia’s and throws herself back onto the mattress. Arecia sighs inwardly, inaudible as Queen’s free hand slips between her legs and a desperate, indecipherable mumble slips out from between her lips.

Arecia moves Queen’s meddlesome hand aside with her free one and gently, slowly, strokes over the white panties that likely won’t survive the night. Queen’s hips move, hungry for even the slightest touch, and Arecia’s name creaks out of her throat in fragments. “A...reci..ah—” The last syllable extends into a pleasured groan as Arecia presses against a damp spot. Queen reaches for her panties again, this time to remove them. Impatient as she is, it seems Arecia won’t stop her this time, and with the sounds of tearing fabric and snapping elastic, Queen tears the garment off, leaving red marks on her skin.

“Careless,” Arecia observes, proceeding to massage Queen’s outer lips with her fingers. Queen, appreciative, unabashed, and  _ dizzy,  _ moans with a choked breath. “Mo… hah—” Her eyes flutter shut as Arecia begins to stroke her inner folds. The grip on her neck releases, and Queen takes in a breath that wholly fills her lungs. The air comes out as a sigh of  _ “Mother”  _ accompanied by a shiver. Queen feels goosebumps on her skin, hairs standing on end as Arecia’s fingers toy with her, tantalizing, dancing around her clit with the occasional contact, but it’s not enough, and Arecia  _ knows  _ it’s not enough, and…and...  _ “Areciaaa.” _

“Yes, my dear,” Arecia says, combing her fingers through Queen’s hair once more. Queen grips Arecia’s sleeve, clawing into her arm as the throb between her legs keeps her breathless, no choking needed. Arecia’s slick fingertips glide down, up, down again, and then prod carefully. Queen receives her eagerly.

_ “Mommy!” _

Arecia’s reaction to Queen’s cry is nonexistent; she continues steadily, fingers sinking into pulsing heat as Queen hips roll. Queen buries her face in Arecia’s hair, taking in the scent of smoke and magic and who cares what else.

“Shit. Shit! Fuck!  _ There.  _ Just like— Arecia—  _ Mother.  _ Shit.  _ Mommy!”  _ Queen’s voice runs dry quickly, broken and insatiated. She growls something beastlike, still rasping,  _ “There. There, Arecia.  _ Pleasepleasepleaseplease  _ fuck. Mommy, Mommy, Mommy.”  _ She draws a ragged breath through clenched teeth, and her abdomen tightens. Her hips rise, her toes curl, and all conscious thought drowns in the sea of gratification that takes her body. A burning wave of pleasure follows quickly after, stronger, supernatural in every sense of the word, and if whatever Arecia just did is considered cheating then Queen will gladly be complicit. Queen writhes with the bliss, breathless, dripping onto her sheets and mumbling nonsense as Arecia cradles her head.

  
  


“...I feel I should remind you,” Arecia tells a dazed Queen. “That even in this state, you are still my good girl.” Queen simply smirks, oddly glad to hear those words.

“Arecia. Would you like a cup of tea?”


End file.
